Twilight Zone
by mcnair
Summary: “Sam Tyler is dead,” Gene rounded angrily, turning on Alex. “That man in there cannot be Sam Tyler.” When a man claiming to be Gene Hunt’s former DI turns up in London, CID is shaken up and torn apart and Alex is left holding everything together. . . AU.
1. p r o l o g u e

**TWILIGHT ZONE**

by time and tea

* * *

p r o l o g u e

* * *

_my beacon's been moved under moon and star_

* * *

MANCHESTER, 1980 – TIME UNKNOWN

_There is water everywhere, coming in through the windows and rising up through the floor. It's suffocating, and as Sam Tyler struggles to be free of his seatbelt, Gene Hunt's words float back to him in the silence of the river as it starts to destroy him._

"_Take that seatbelt off—yer a police officer. . ." His voice fades out and Tyler clicks the belt free, struggling against the confines of the car. It's terrifying, he reflects, the dark abyss stretching out around him with sunlight somewhere up above, just waiting to be seen, and his hands move to the door, kicking it to free himself._

_It doesn't move. How long has he been under now? He's not sure—he kicks it again, blowing bubbles and ramming his elbow through the remainder of the window's shattered glass. The fragments float around him and he squeezes through the window, kicking feverishly as the fight or flight instincts rise up inside him and he realises that he wants to live._

_No—he knew that all along. _

_Sam Tyler can barely see; his cheeks are swollen with air and he exhales more bubbles, craning his head to try and see the surface from where he is. The car is in tatters but that isn't his concern now; he kicks fiercely, pulling his arms as memories of learning breaststroke come back to him, and starts his bid for freedom._

_Light shines, murky and shimmering up ahead. It wavers faintly, as does his will to survive, ebbing and draining from him—the water is sucking it out—but he struggles onward and upwards, hands stretching and reaching desperately for that first breath of air._

I want to live, _he thinks, but the light is fading._

_And then, just as he reaches it and is able to grasp it in his hands, it goes out._

* * *

LONDON, 1982 – 10:13 A.M

CID was slow-moving, reacting to cases at a sluggish pace, and even Alex was feeling the lack of activity. Nothing interesting had come in for weeks; their time had been filled with reports of burglaries, muggings and the occasional assault after a night of drinking, and although the brief period of rest between intense cases was welcomed, the fact that nothing had come up for weeks was somewhat strange.

Even Ray's newspaper, known to often report vicious crime, had a dull headline, something about how Danish fishermen had invaded British waters. For a moment, she almost believed he was reading that very story until he rustled the pages in an obnoxious manner that she had frequently come to associate with him, tapped Chris on the shoulder and descended into a fit of snickers at something he clearly found funny.

Chris glanced at the contents of the newspaper, a brief frown forming on his face. "What's so funny?"

"Seatbelts," Ray returned, pointing to something on the page. Alex sighed and returned to glancing through files at her desk; boredom had started to rot the brains of CID. "Thatcher wants 'em to become mandatory equipment when you're drivin'."

"Bloody hell," Chris breathed, catching onto what was so funny about the proposed idea, "Imagine what the guv would do if that ever happened."

"Stop wearin' your seatbelt," Ray mimicked, deepening his voice and giving it a gruffer edge, "Yer a police officer, not a bloody vicar." He laughed again, turning another page of the newspaper.

"Do vicars even go in cars?"

There was a pause as Ray glanced at his colleague, a look of faint irritation on his face. "Of _course _they bloody don't," he retorted, rolling his eyes.

"Why's that, Ray?"

"_God _gives them special ways of gettin' around. You know, like… confessional stuff. They don't need to have a car if they're doin' confessions, people come to 'em and they don't need to drive around in order to know stuff."

A brief lapse in noise followed this statement. "Oh," Chris replied, looking as if he'd just had an epiphany. "Didn't know that. Thanks."

Ray snorted, shrugging his shoulders and propping his feet up on his desk as he turned another page. "Don't trust vicars anyway," he added, shifting in his seat, "You can't trust anyone who's got God whisperin' in their ears all the time."

Deciding that she'd heard enough of this, Alex stood up suddenly and clasped her hands together, glancing at the two men with a bright expression on her face. "Right," she declared, moving around her desk and gesturing to them with one hand, "Chris, Ray, you're with me. We're going to go out and do some police work."

". . . police work?" Ray echoed, brows knitting together in slight confusion. "There's no police work to do, ma'am."

"There's _always _work to do," she sang back, shaking her head and tugging her jacket on, "And we need to get out there and prove we're actively helping people."

Muttering under his breath, Ray sat up and folded his newspaper in two, tossing it onto the desk with a disgruntled expression on his face. "Women," he sighed, lifting his shoulders and rising to his feet, "Always wantin' to help people."

"Isn't that why you joined the police force?" Alex asked, a little too innocently with a faint smile on her face, "To _help_ people?"

"No," Ray shot back, hiking up his jeans and huffing, "I joined it to arrest slimy bastards who go and commit crime."

Chris cleared his throat. "I joined it to help people," he murmured, catching Shaz's eye and smiling at the pride on her face. Ray glared at him, and he frowned, hastily adding, "Oh—and to catch blaggers."

Alex sighed. "For Heaven's sake, let's just get out and—"

The doors to CID swung open with force that she had only ever seen from one person, and they rattled shut as that very person stormed further into the vicinity with papers clutched in their hands and a determined expression on their face.

"Did someone die in 'ere?" Gene bellowed, ploughing right through the space between Alex and Ray, "Get movin', we've got us a case!" He paused, slapped the papers into Alex's hands and continued towards his office. "Bolls, I want you to brief the lads and meet me in my office in five."

She stared at him as he stood in the doorway of his office, surveying his kingdom with a smug look on his face. Glancing down at the papers and then back at her DCI, Alex tilted her head and frowned slightly. "What case?"

"Man with no memory," Gene announced proudly, gesturing towards the papers. "Just woke up from a three year coma with no memory, no knowledge of who he is—"

"—why are we taking this case?" she asked tentatively, shifting.

"_Because_," the DCI spat, lip jutting out as he met her gaze, "the nurses say 'e's a police officer of some sort. No one's seen 'im before—'e claims 'e was in a pursuit or somethin' b'fore 'e lost 'is memory."

". . . so we're taking this case because he's one of us?" Alex echoed, baffled by Hunt's logic.

"Exactamundo," he shot, opening the door to his office. "Give the papers to Ray an' Chris an' get your bony arse into my office, Bolls."

She stared after him as he shut the door, silently handing the papers to Chris. The whole of CID exchanged a glance and Alex shrugged her shoulders helplessly—how was she meant to know what was going on?

"Well, I'd best. . ." and she glanced towards Gene's office without another word, inching past Ray's desk and towards the door.

"No problem, ma'am," Chris provided, flicking through the papers and grinning at her, "We'll get crackin' on this."

* * *

Gene was pouring himself a tumbler of scotch when Alex came in and closed the door behind her, approaching his desk with a mixture of curiosity and trepidation.

He set the tumbler down and sat up, eyes piercing hers momentarily—eyes that were clouded with something she couldn't read. "I didn't mention it out there," Hunt murmured, voice lower as he picked up the tumbler and stared at it for a second, "between you and me. . . you knew Sam Tyler, didn't you?"

She answered him with a nod; yes, she had known Sam Tyler. She knew Gene through Sam Tyler—she knew _all _of them through Sam Tyler, but that was something that wouldn't be mentioned. "Yes," Alex replied, "I knew of him."

There was a momentary lapse in talking as Gene digested the information and swallowed a mouthful of liquor. "Thought so." He set the glass down and sat back in his chair, watching her silently. "That's what complicates this case."

Resisting the urge to make a comment about how he acknowledged this case as _complicated _instead of _open and shut _or whatever it was he used to define a case, Alex's eyes met Gene's. She wasn't following. "Me knowing of Sam Tyler complicates this?"

"No," came the short response, with some tightness in the tone, "This officer claimin' to _be _Sam Tyler complicates this."

He took another swig of scotch as silence descended between them, his face as cryptic and unreadable as ever.

* * *

**notes**: i'm actually going to complete this one, since i lost interest in _twentieth century_. the title and song lyrics come from golden earring's _twilight zone_, which was a hit in 1983, also when this is meant to be set for those who are interested. i have most of it planned out in my head, but whether or not it comes out the way i want it to when i write it is a completely different story. there are several events that happened in 1983 that are going to be rewritten for the purpose of this story, some of which you may or may not know about, so that's just a warning. this is obviously au after the series 2 finale, but hey, au is good, right? as always, critique and whatnot on my interpretation of the characters is absolutely loved and vital; i feel as though i can never get them right, though i'm sure all writers who write in this fandom feel like that sometimes. thank you for reading, i'll respond to all your reviews and such in the next chapter. x


	2. o n e

**TWILIGHT ZONE**

by time and tea

* * *

o n e

* * *

_eternal fate has turned its back on him_

* * *

Alex wasn't quite sure what to say.

Sam Tyler was dead, both in her world and this world; he'd committed suicide in her world and died in a high speed pursuit in this world. The only difference between the two deaths was that one had recovered a body and the other hadn't—she had seen Sam Tyler's dead body in _her _world, yet Gene had never laid eyes on the corpse of DI Tyler. She remained silent for a moment, weighing up her options of what to say while quietly gauging her DCI's expression and was unable to see anything in the fierce poker face of Gene Hunt.

"We're goin' to visit this officer," Gene stated after the silence had become unbearable and uncomfortable for both of them, though she was only guessing at the latter, "Goin' to give 'im a good grillin'." He set his glass down with newfound resolve, sniffed and then stood up, grabbing his coat at the same time in one smooth motion.

She stood as he did, following him out of the office where Chris hovered like a Border Collie, papers in-hand and an eager expression on his face. "Ma'am," he called, and she halted, observing Gene stop dead in his tracks and turn to watch the procession with a look of thinly-veiled impatience.

"Yes?" she answered, stepping closer to him as he pointed at the papers. "What have you found, Chris?"

He grinned. "This bloke, right, ma'am, no one's heard of him before today—I mean, no one in London, that is. He's got no relatives, no family that they can trace—it's like he's all alone in the world or somethin', ma'am. Shaz and Ray are checkin' the Missing Person reports to see if anything's come up. . ." Chris paused, frowning slightly. "He must be feelin' really lonely."

From behind him, Ray snorted and threw a folder down, scowling. "I've just gone through the last six months, there's nothin' here—"

"—well, Raymondo, if the bastard's been in a _coma _for three years, there wouldn't be anythin' from six months ago, _would there_?" Gene barked, and Ray's face became sulky. He pushed the pile of reports away and reached for yet another pile under the Manc Lion's watchful eye, rooting through them with what seemed to be deliberate slowness.

She smiled to herself and turned back to Chris. "Has anything. . . significant come up?"

"What do you mean, ma'am?"

"Things that don't make sense – in his statement, for instance. . . are there things that seem odd to you?"

Chris was quiet for a few moments. Gene sighed and made a noise in the back of his throat, but Alex had learnt to dismiss such things. She studied Chris's face and watched as something dawned in his eyes, like the first rays of realisation. "Actually, ma'am, he kept talking about. . ." he rustled through the papers, scanning a page briefly before looking back to his superior officer, ". . . two women. One called Annie and one called Maya—kept sayin' he'd let both of 'em down. That seemed a little bit odd to me."

"Sounds to me like the sod had two birds on the go, Christopher. Nothin' odd about that—DI Drake meant—" Gene started, turning to fix Chris with his impenetrable glare before he was cut off by Alex.

"—no, no, what you found was perfect, Chris. Well done." She beamed at him, reassuring him that his line of inquiry was exactly what he was looking for, and told others to look for things along the same line of oddness. Turning back to Hunt, she beamed at him, getting no reaction aside from a look of deep irritation.

"Shall we?"

He said nothing, storming away from her and pushing the doors to CID open with so much force that she almost thought they'd swing off their hinges.

* * *

_Hands are pulling him free of the water, voices all around him—shouting, screaming voices—but he can't make out any faces. He looks for Gene, looks for Annie, looks for Chris and Ray in the madness with water-filled eyes and a head full of confusion but everything is blurred. _

_He's out of place, out of time; he's a walking, talking anachronism. _

_There are lights now, and they engulf him. Faces swim around him as he moves in and out of consciousness, aware and yet completely unaware of the chaos that divides and splits around him. There is pressure on his chest, murmuring in his ear, people telling him to keep on fighting._

_He wakes up and he's alone. A nurse is standing in the doorway, clipboard pressed to her chest, with sadness in her eyes. He opens his mouth, wants to say something to her—_

"_Annie. . . help—"_

_Darkness comes again._

* * *

It had been a while since Alex had been forced to pay a visit to their local hospital, but not much had changed. Nurses were still orderly and polite – even the layout remained the same – and yet there was a feeling of deep foreboding that pulled at her consciousness and begged her to listen. She glanced at Gene as they stepped through the doors and into the main hall of the hospital, his face as stoic and incomprehensible as ever, and wondered what he could possibly be feeling.

Far too sensible to ask, she headed over to the receptionist's desk and quietly caught the girl's attention. "Excuse me, could you tell us where the patient suffering from amnesia is?"

The girl looked at them both, and then back down at her work. "Are you friends or next of kin?"

Opening her mouth to reply, Alex was cut off by Gene's instant response of, "_Police_."

"Yes," she echoed, offering the receptionist a soft smile that she hoped would ease the blow of Gene's abrupt remark and hostile features, "We're police from Fenchurch East. I'm DI Alex Drake and this is DCI Gene Hunt – we're investigating the patient with amnesia."

"Oh!" There was a pause as papers were shuffled and consulted. "Yes – he should be out of intensive care by now. Try the David Ferrier Ward."

"Thank you." Turning to Gene, Alex smiled at him, the gesture remaining unreturned, and they strode away from the desk and towards the aforementioned ward, using signs to guide them.

In the minutes that passed as they headed towards the appropriate ward, Gene was silent.

Alex glanced at him, noting the complete lack of emotion and clenched jaw, and could think of nothing to say. Eventually, he shot her an irritated look and she sighed and stopped walking, causing him to also stop and glare at her as she leant against the wall and exhaled heavily.

"Gone lame, Bollyknickers? We have somewhere to be, and I'd like to get there within the next century if that's alright with you."

She chose to ignore his sarcasm. "Guv, are you sure—?"

"Whatever it is you're going to say, yes. I'm sure. I'm so sure, I'm not even going to wait for the psycho shite to come out of your mouth." He turned away from her, glancing up the corridor to the sign that read 'David Ferrier Ward.'

There was a heavy pause. "I'm concerned that this might have detrimental effects on you, if. . ." How was she meant to say it?

"If _what_?" Gene barked, surveying her in a predatory manner. "Spit it out!"

"If. . . ." Alex glanced at the ward up ahead, and then back to her DCI. "If – if it does turn out to be Sam Tyler. There's always that possibility."

"Sam Tyler is _dead_," Gene rounded angrily, face a picture of pent-up rage. "The man in there, whoever he is, _cannot _be Sam Tyler." He gestured in the vague direction of the ward, and then turned away furiously.

In response, Alex said nothing, choosing to follow him into the ward. They stood side-by-side for a second, scanning the patients before a nurse came over and quietly informed them that the amnesiac had his own room to the far side of the ward, pointing it out to them in the process. Alex thanked her and followed Gene again, remaining slightly behind him as he peered in through the glass, jaw set, and then opened the door.

"Be careful, guv," she murmured, following him inside and closing the door, "He's just woken up from a coma."

* * *

The room was well-lit, all sorts of hospital equipment surrounding the bed, and a window overlooked a small area of London. It was quiet – the man in the bed was sleeping with the covers pulled over his face – and Alex felt a distinct sense of peace radiate from the confines of the room until Gene dragged his chair across the floor, scraping the legs so that a loud noise followed every movement, and then set the chair next to the bed with a loud clatter.

"_Gene_," she hissed, glaring at him. "What did I say about him just waking up from a coma?"

A snort was received in reply. "Come on, you bastard," the DCI growled, shaking the frame of the bed. "Stop playin' hospitals and tell us why you're pretendin' to be someone you're not."

The patient beneath the covers stirred slightly, and Alex moved forward, grabbing Gene's hand to stop him from shaking the bed again. "Forgive my colleague," she stated, shooting him an icy look. "He still hasn't perfected bedside mannerisms."

She received her own icy look in response to that comment.

"You'd better come out from under those covers, or I'm goin' to pull the bloody things off and not be held responsible if I happen to pull yer head off in the process!" Gene spat, clearly annoyed at the lack of progress that was being made. Alex sighed and released his hand, stepping away to survey the scene. A few more moments passed and the patient stirred again, causing her to step towards the bed.

"What are you doin', Drake?"

"Maybe he can't get the covers off himself and needs some help, Hunt."

"What are you, his _mother_? Of course he can."

Hesitantly, carefully, Alex moved over towards the other side of the bed, standing opposite Gene. She pulled the blanket back slowly, hands trembling despite telling herself to remain calm, and inhaled slightly once the blanket was far enough to see light brown hair. There was a pause as she glanced back at Gene, whose face was concrete and stony, and took the lack of emotion as a sign to continue.

Pulling the blanket down further to expose a pale, smooth forehead and eyebrows, Alex swallowed, lowering it further. Eyes that were wide open and dark brown in colour stared up at her, and with a mixture of trepidation and anticipation, she pulled the rest of the blanket down to the patient's torso and let it drop.

Tension flooded the room and Alex felt as if all the air had been sucked out. She bit her lip and glanced at the floor as she heard Gene move and then the door open and slam shut a few seconds later, signalling that he had left the room, and then looked back at the man in the bed and took his hand between her own, marvelling at how warm and soft it was.

"Hello there, Sam. I'm DI Alex Drake."

* * *

**notes**: again, so sorry for the wait! i've had modules and exams to do, but the first chapter of _twilight zone_ is now up, and i do hope you enjoy it! whilst it's au, it's sort of going to incorporate some of series 3 with it, but not necessarily all of series 3, and not necessarily what actually happens in series 3, so this is just (another) warning. thanks for all your reviews; the next chapter should be along shortly, but i do have more exams to revise for and complete during may - july, so i can't promise anything regular for now! thanks so much for reading and reviewing. x


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